


Wish (You Never Left Me)

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [22]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Family Dynamics, Forgiveness, Gen, Muslim Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: The necropolis was built for the dead, and not the living, but tonight there is life within it, and not only a dead woman lost to the rest of the world.Or,During Ramadan, Ana seeks forgiveness for her transgressions.





	Wish (You Never Left Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Necropolis made me emo :(

In Ramadan, the burning month, the month of driest days and hottest heat, Ana makes a pilgrimage.  To fast is to seek forgiveness, and to atone for past sins, and it is her intent, on this journey, to do both.  While she feels, always, the weight bearing down upon her of her past mistakes, there are some, yet, which she may rectify, and it is her desire—her duty—to do what she can, in this life, to make amends.

(The lives she took can never be returned, save for the one.  But to return to herself her own life is a more difficult task than any she could have imagined.)

So it is that Ana finds herself on a journey with her daughter.  It is not the pilgrimage which she imaged the two of them making together, when Fareeha was a young girl (nor will it ever be—Fareeha went to Mecca in the first year of Ana’s un-death, before she knew the truth), but it is, nonetheless, one which holds great meaning for the both of them.  A journey to the necropolis outside of Cairo.

(A journey to—God willing—forgiveness.)

Before the month began, they agreed, together, that they would make this journey, would revisit the past in an attempt to—at last—put it to rest, as Ana should have been put to rest all those years ago.  They agreed, they _promised_ , and as a result, they find themselves here, even if by the time they arrive the both of them regret the decision.

(They are trying, in their own way, to mend their relationship, and so neither feels as if they could possibly renege, even if they wished to—and they are not yet far enough, on their journey to repair things, that either of them is willing to express their discomfort.  It is, like all things worth doing, a process, and a long and difficult one at that.)

In Ramadan, the burning month, when the sun scorches the earth and lanterns light the night, Ana returns to a place which was never her home.  Never was the necropolis an easy place to be at peace within, never was it truly a comfort, but then, she could brush off her wariness as the paranoia of a woman on the run, could dismiss the way she jumped at shadows as the consequence of years of trauma, could push beyond herself, beyond the limits of _Ana_ and into someone else to escape it.  Now, she has not the Shrike, or any excuses or justifications, but it is no longer the shadows which scare her.

(Or, perhaps she is merely afraid of a different shadow—of the woman she was, when she lived here, of the less-than-human thing she pushed herself to become when the pain of living was too much for her to bear.)

Now, she fears the future, fears what will become of the fragile relationship she has rebuilt with her daughter, fears that she will never be able to reconcile the past and the present, to integrate what was with what is, and what shall be. 

(Now, she has a future, rather than existing out of time as the Shrike did, a thing removed from society and from meaning.  Things are better, now, but the darkness of the time yet lingers, at the corner of her eye.)

But, with Fareeha by her side, all things seem lighter.  Even as the day fades into dusk, and the darkness surrounds them, she knows that she need not break her fast alone, that she need not _be_ alone, not any longer, even as she returns to the site of her isolation. 

(The dates they share between the two of them taste sweeter than any Ana ate in her time here before.)

In Ramadan, the burning month, when an extra prayer is said at night and words are chosen more wisely, Ana attempts to atone.   She does so not in so many words, and not during the day, when Fareeha might easily search her face, but in the strange half light of the necropolis when lit by the moon, with a gesture.

(It is far easier for her to gesture than to speak; hers has been a life of action, and to choose her words carefully, as the month demands, is no simple task.  Perhaps this is a coward’s way out, to expect Fareeha to imagine for herself the words Ana will not—cannot—speak, but Ana has never said she was brave.  A braver woman, she knows, would never have left as she did.)

She leads Fareeha to the telescope, still set up at the edge of the necropolis, still pointed towards the temple.  She leads Fareeha to a view—a view which might, in turn, offer a new perspective.  She leads Fareeha to a conclusion, not an inevitable one, perhaps, but one which, if after all these years she still knows her daughter in some way, will seem as if it were so.

(She does not lead Fareeha like she refused to, in the days of Overwatch, when she rejected her daughter’s application to join the organization.  In that way, Fareeha leads herself.  As she should.)

From where she stands, Ana knows what Fareeha will see, knows that Fareeha will realize immediately the implication of the view—in all the years which she served at the Temple of Anubis, Ana stood by, watching, still there to protect her daughter, even when she could not even protect herself.  What she does not know is this: when Fareeha sees this, and learns the truth of the years Ana spent here, how she will react.

(What she does not know is this: whether or not she is truly deserving of the forgiveness which she seeks.)

In Ramadan, the burning month, the month of dry cracked lips and waiting, waiting, _waiting_ , it is not Ana who speaks first.  Instead, it is Fareeha who breaks the silence between them, Fareeha who sets the tone of conversation, Fareeha who knows what to say, and how to say it.

“You watched me,” she says, on a breath out, not turning to look at her mother, not yet, but instead staring still at the same patch of sky through which she flew, day after day, month after month, year after year, in the time without Ana.  “All that time, when I mourned you, when I missed you, when I made my peace with a world, a life without you, you were here, within view?”  The words are not angry, but neither are they kind.  At best, they are a statement of surprise, and at worst, incredulity.

“Yes,” Ana replies, for what else might she say?  That is the truth, and she owes her daughter nothing less.

For a few moments more, there is silence between them, until Fareeha straightens, no longer hunched over the telescope (adjusted for Ana’s lesser height), and gives Ana a look which is so lost that she feels compelled to speak, to justify herself, to offer some explanation which might make this easier for Fareeha.

“I never left you,” says she, and means it.  Even in her death she could never, _never_ abandon her daughter, who is precious to her, who is important above all other things.

“I know,” answers Fareeha, and a few months before, those words might have been said in anger, but now they are simply fact, “Even when you were ‘dead,’ you didn’t leave me be; you never could.  I thought…” she trails off, laughs humorlessly, “I thought maybe, when you were dead, I would be out of your shadow, that I wouldn’t have to compete with your legacy in order to prove my own worth.  I thought I could finally make a name for myself, outside of you—but what could I possibly do that was more dedicated than dying for the cause?  You couldn’t have left me if you wanted to.”

To that, Ana almost apologizes, but how could she, when it was no fault of her own, the weight her legacy places upon her daughter?  For that, Ana almost thanks her daughter, for the recognition that she did not _want_ to leave, for the understanding of the circumstances which forced her away, for the proof that they _have_ made progress, in their attempts to heal.  In response to that, Ana nearly does many things, but what she says is this:

“You deserve better.” 

As far as the words themselves go, it is a simple statement, but in saying it Ana means many things.  She means that Fareeha deserves not to live in the shadow of her mother, and to be recognized by her own right.  She means that Fareeha ought not to have been put through her death, and un-death, and eventual return.  She means that Fareeha should have had a mother who could fulfill her needs and not—well, not _her._

“Maybe,” Fareeha answers, “But that’s over now, isn’t it?  And I’m happy with where I am.  When you came back—it was hard, dealing with the feelings that dredged up.  It was hard to see people I’d come to know _without_ you so excited to see you again, and it was hard to learn to accommodate your presence into my life again but… that’s over now.  Or, not over, but it’s easier, and I’m _happy_.  You don’t have to worry about me, Mum.”

How could Ana not worry?  It is in her nature to be a guardian, to protect those who need her protection.  That drive is what brought her here, watching Fareeha fly from just far enough away to be undetected, but close enough that if Fareeha had ever _truly_ needed her she might have been there.

Or, that _was_ the case.  Here and now, standing in the necropolis with Fareeha, and not watching her from afar, her perspective is changed in a different way.  Fareeha might still need the support of others, might still want a shoulder to cry on, but without Ana directly involved in her life, she survived, she persisted, she thrived, and she stands here today an even better and braver woman than the one Ana left behind. 

In all Ana’s years spent watching her daughter, spent guaranteeing Fareeha’s safety, she suddenly realizes that she never once needed to intervene, never once was the force which ensured Fareeha’s survival. 

All along, even as she ‘protected’ Fareeha from afar, it was truly Fareeha protecting herself—and if she did not need Ana then, why she needs her even less now, after the Recall.

“I know,” says Ana, and she has, all along, even if up until the moment before she refused to acknowledge it.  “I know you don’t need me anymore.  You have other people who care about you.  You’re all grown up now, and strong.”

Or perhaps, Fareeha is not especially strong, and she only seems so because Ana is weak, because even after all these years, when Fareeha has grown away and apart from her, into a woman of her own, and stopped needing her mother—Ana has never stopped needing her, never stopped wanting to be in her life. 

Ana almost, _almost_ allows herself to cry, both out of pride and sadness, before stopping herself.  

“I brought you here with the intent to apologize,” says she, “To show you my perspective before asking your forgiveness for having left, to prove that I was still here for you and now…” she breathes in, and it would be shaky were it not for years as a sniper, and the steadiness, the deliberateness that comes with it.  “Now I see you don’t need me.”

Silence, for a moment, no sounds in the distance, only the quiet of the necropolis, of things long dead, and then:

“You’re mostly right,” says Fareeha, “I _am_ grown, and I do have other people who care about me, but Mum—just because I don’t _need_ you to protect me doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ it.”  She moves back towards the telescope, but does not look through it this time, but past it, where the temple is still visible, but only just.  “You’re always welcome in my life, Mum.  It’s still difficult, sometimes, and I still don’t know if I want to share _everything,_ but there’s still a place for you.  We’ll figure it out.”

When Fareeha speaks, like this, she sounds so sure, and Ana finds herself believing it, even if doing so goes against her cautious nature.  When Fareeha speaks, like this, it is easier for Ana to believe that she has brought some good into the world, in the form of her daughter, who surely is a better woman than she ever was.  When Fareeha speaks, like this, there is a moment of peace in Ana’s war-ravaged mind.

“Thank you,” says she—for this is more than forgiveness, is absolution, is something beyond what Ana ever dared to hope.  _Thank you_ , says she, for what more could she say, what could better convey what she is feeling?  What could be better than this?

“I love you, Mum” Fareeha tells her, turning around, and well—there was something better than saying thank you, after all.

“I love you too, my Fareeha,” she tells her daughter, pulling her in and down (when, she wonders, did Fareeha become so much taller than her?  when did she begin to feel so small beside the child she raised?), and thinks, not for the first time, that she was right in naming her.

 _Fareeha.  Happiness._ Always, the name has rung true, but never more so than now, in this moment, for Fareeha _is_ her source of happiness, is the only good and right thing which Ana has ever been in any way responsible for, is better than she in so many ways, and therefore is a comfort, a balm, a source of strength when she needs one, a home to return to, the one constant source of joy in her life. 

To tell her daughter these things would be to unduly burden her, and so Ana says nothing, again relying on gesture to convey what it is she is thinking, to communicate her meaning, as she holds Fareeha as tightly as she is able. 

The necropolis was built for the dead, and not the living, but tonight there _is_ life within it, and not only a dead woman, lost to the rest of the world.

In Ramadan, the burning month, when dates taste sweeter on the tongue than any food which one has ever before tasted, and something greater, something more than this life, seems closer than ever, Ana cannot wash away her sins.  Never will her past be erased, never will the things she did become undone, but perhaps, she thinks, as she falls asleep beside her daughter in the flesh, and not merely next to a hologram, perhaps she need not negate her past in order to move beyond it.  Perhaps she is, even now, moving out of it and into the future, bit by bit, with Fareeha at her side.  Perhaps she need not be defined solely by what has been, when she can shape, too, what might yet be.

**Author's Note:**

> Ramadan is, specifically named for "burning/scorching heat" and not simply burning, and there is an unrelated association between burning and purification, hence that tidbit within the fic.
> 
> The title is from 1D's song Clouds.
> 
> Anyway I just want Ana & Fareeha to work on moving forwards ;___; Let them acknowledge their past without being defined by it, Blizzard you cowards.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> <3 Rory


End file.
